


Shadow's Bane

by ant5b



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: A family can be a rich old man his niece and nephew and a shadow baby, AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Lena deserves better, Parent Scrooge McDuck, What would've happened if Scrooge had found Lena 15 years ago
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-06-30 07:06:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15746754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ant5b/pseuds/ant5b
Summary: Magica De Spell was defeated, but she left something behind. Or rather, someone.





	1. Chapter 1

Magica’s screams died out with a flash of light, so instantaneous it was as though she’d never been there in the first place.

Except the sky still gleamed blood red and the damnable eclipse, high above the volcano, had barely begun to end. His Number One Dime rested in the palm of his hand, burning like ice-cold fire, and he curled his hand around it in a fist. He relished in the pain, and the memory of the witch’s final, empty threats.

It was done. His family was safe.

Scrooge sighed, the last several nerve wracking days of too much desperation and too little sleep catching up to him, and his knees trembled with the effort of keeping him standing. So he wouldn’t simply fall back into the dirt, he carefully lowered himself against an outcropping of stone. He craned his head up so he could see the fading eclipse.

Mount Vesuvius was utterly silent, almost unnaturally so, and after being home to so much dark magick Scrooge wasn’t really surprised. A gale swept hauntingly over the summit, easing the sense of stillness though it did little calm his nerves.

He clenched the dime tightly in his fist.

They were _safe._

His radio crackled to life, scaring him out of his wits, and he let out a very _manly_ yelp. _“Uncle Scrooge? Is everything okay? I saw that burst of light—”_

Scrooge fumbled for the radio in his pocket. “A-aye, Della! It’s done. You were right, lass.”

“Yes!” Della shouted ecstatically. Her energy was infectious, and Scrooge found himself smiling. _“Yes! I told you, a counterspell would do just the trick!”_

“That you did,” Scrooge chuckled, though the smile was quick to slide off his face as he looked down at his palm, and the dime that continued to burn him. “But I think I’ve had my fill of magic.”

Della blew out a breath. _“No argument here.”_

Scrooge hesitated, his throat working silently. “Any word on Donald?”

 _“He’s awake! Mrs. B radioed in with the news just a couple minutes ago,”_ Della said, and even over the crackle of the radio, her relief was overwhelming. _“He woke up demanding to know where we were.”_

Scrooge rolled his eyes, though his smile returned as a full-blown grin. “I’ll be surprised if Beakley doesn’t have to tie that lad to the bed to keep him from chasing after us.”

Della sniffed, laughing weakly. _“Yeah. It’s not like Donnie to let a little something like a coma keep him down.”_

“Of course not,” Scrooge said over the twinge in his chest. “Just watch, that barmy brother of yours will be on his feet within the week.”

 _“I’ll be surprised if_ you’re _on your feet in a week. Are you on your way back yet?”_

“I’ll have you know I’ve been resting my eyes.”

Della laughed. _“Well can you rest your eyes back on the plane?”_

“Och jings,” he grumbled. “Can’t a man get a moment of peace after defeating his sworn enemy?”

_“Not if he wants a ride back he can’t.”_

Scrooge groaned, but started pulling himself back to his feet. “You’re a slavedriver, lass, y’know that?”

Della laughed at him again, the ingrate. _“I’ll start getting ready for takeoff.”_

He looked heavenward, again confirming that the total eclipse had come to an end. He could see a sliver of the pale moon he knew, and breathed a sigh of relief. Scrooge finally felt it was safe to tuck the dime away, and made sure it was secure in his left breast pocket.

Della was waiting for him at the base of the mountain, Donald was waiting for them back at the mansion, finally conscious and impatient as ever. Scrooge couldn’t recall ever wanting to be home as much as he did right then.

But he’d only made it a few steps before a sound distracted him. A sound that didn’t belong on a desolate mountaintop.

A quiet whimpering, like what one would hear from a child or a small animal, rose from behind him, chilling Scrooge to the bone. It was with a sense of dawning trepidation that he turned back around.

From the spot where Magica de Spell had drawn her final breath, an amorphous black shape had begun to rise. From it emanated the sound of soft crying, like there was an infant trapped in its depths. Where Magica’s staff had fallen, a violet amulet sat in its place and the inky mass plucked it off the ground.

Before Scrooge’s eyes, hands formed out of the darkness, the outline of a head and beak. In seconds, a child sat before him, naked and crying. If Scrooge had to guess, she was two years old, but no older. 

She had the amulet around her neck, hanging low to the ground, and save the occasional whimper she cried nearly silently. Her tears left tracks down the feathers of her cheeks.

“Holy hollyhock…” he breathed.

Scrooge thought he might fall all over again, but he willed himself to stumble closer to the child.

She’d come from Magica, that much was certain, but for what _purpose?_ A child made from shadow, by the Sorceress of the Shadows. A spy, perhaps? But she was was so _young._

The child flinched away from Scrooge when he drew near, and he pulled up short. Her eyes were wide and terrified, utterly uncomprehending. Scrooge’s chest ached.

He slowly kneeled before her, staying at about arm’s length. She clutched the amulet’s chain, matching his wary gaze with a glassy one of her own.

He knew he had to think about this logically. She might look like a child, but Scrooge had encountered his fair share of beasts that were excellent mimics, playacting at innocence until they got what they wanted. Magica de Spell was not above such trickery.

His heart somewhere in the vicinity of his throat, Scrooge reached back into his left breast pocket and pulled out his Number One Dime.

The child’s tears had begun to dry, and she watched Scrooge with more curiosity than fear as he extended his hand and offered her the dime. The blazing cold had abated, but it still felt like a stone in his palm.

She glanced down at the dime, and for an instant his worst fears were realized. She let go of the amulet and lifted a small hand, but instead of reaching for the dime, she clutched his thumb instead.

Startled, Scrooge let out a squawk and nearly dropped his dime in the dirt.

The child smiled for the first time, letting go of his thumb to clap her hands together.

Still a little incredulous, Scrooge smiled back and tucked his Number One away. “Well aren’t you just full of surprises?”

A chill swept over the summit, heralding the onset of darker night. The eclipse was over.

But the child shivered, and curled up with a whimper.

Guilt sliced through Scrooge, and he quickly pulled off his coat, leaving him in his plain undershirt.

“Och, lassie,” he murmured as reached around to bundle the child in his coat. “Forgive an old man his paranoia, hm?”

He paused a moment to remove the heavy amulet around her neck, a little unsure of what would happen when he did so. The girl only looked up at him with watery eyes, still shivering in the cold.

Scrooge wasted no more time in wrapping her in his coat, cradling her in his arms as he stood back up.

“There we go, darling. All better?”

The child made no move to answer, but the smile returned to her face as she cuddled against Scrooge’s chest, relaxing in the warmth he provided.

“Close enough,” Scrooge said, smiling softly.

 

Della was waiting outside the plane when he finally reached the base of the volcano, a journey made considerably more difficult when one’s hands were full of a slumbering child.

She’d been fiddling with the radio when he arrived, and perked up when she saw him appear.

“Hey, it’s about time! I was starting to think I’d have to send out the search parties.”

“Har har,” Scrooge said. “How nice to know my own niece has so little faith in me.”

Della’s smile lost some of its fervor when he came closer, and she could see the bundle of his coat in his arms. “Whatcha got there?” she asked, tilting her head curiously.

“Ah,” Scrooge said, “Well.”

He tilted the bundle forward a bit, just so Della could see the face of the sleeping duckling. “It seems that Magica left something behind.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I received some helpful comments regarding Lena's age and how I describe her in the fic, so I decided to age her down a little (the edit is in the first chapter). However, in multiple cultures parents have historically carried their children in slings or carriers well past infancy, and since Scrooge is so well-traveled I feel like he would be familiar with this idea. 
> 
> Also, Lena won't be aging like a normal child, at least for a portion of this story. This has more to do with her unique origin than anything else. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

For the entirety of the flight back to the states, Della didn’t stop looking back at the child asleep in his arms.

If it was anyone other than his niece piloting, Scrooge would be worried about them crashing. As it was, he met his niece’s gaze with an increasingly nonplussed one of his own, when he didn’t follow the duckling’s lead by falling asleep.

Upon boarding, Scrooge had found a blanket to use as a temporary sling to carry the child in, so he could get his coat back as well as the use of his arms. Della had watched him with a perturbed expression then too.

 

_“So...what is she, exactly?” Della asked._

_Scrooge spared her an amused glance as he buttoned his coat back up. “I believe the word you’re searching for is ‘baby’.”_

_The child in question watched them curiously from where Scrooge had set her down on the cot in the_ Sunchaser’s _cargo hold._ _She was sleepy-eyed, and had yet to make a sound other than whimpering when he first found her._

_Scrooge was still unsure about her age. She was small, and he would think she was younger than he'd originally guessed if it weren't for her eyes, wide and dark and a little too intelligent to be an infant's. But she couldn't stand, and had difficulty sitting up on her own, which would've worried Scrooge more if she weren't so calm._

_“You said she was..._ made _from Magica,” Della said carefully, ignoring Scrooge’s earlier jab._

_Scrooge’s brow furrowed. “Aye. From her shadow, it looked like.”_

_He reached into his pocket, pulling out the violet amulet he’d found around the child’s neck. “She transformed her staff into this as I trapped her in the dime.”_

_Della reached for the amulet, and Scrooge passed it to her. She turned it over in her hands for a few moments, looking troubled. “I don’t like this,” she said at last._

_“Do you think I_ meant _to return from my final showdown against the bane of my ancestors’ existence with a wee bairn in tow?” Scrooge replied lightly, hoping to ease the perturbed expression on his niece’s face._

 _“I’m saying it doesn’t make sense,” Della insisted. “Magica realizes she’s lost. She’s getting sucked into the dime and what does she do? Not attack you, not try to save herself, but takes the time to leave a_ kid  _behind?”_

_The duckling in question began to whimper again. Scrooge crouched beside the cot and gently rubbed her cheek in an attempt to soothe her. “Maybe she’s Magica’s daughter?”_

_“I wouldn’t exactly call Magica mom material,” Della said, crossing her arms. “Magica’s crazy, but she’s not stupid. She left this for a reason.”_

_Scrooge rolled his eyes. “And what might that reason be? So this wee babe can get her hands on my Number One Dime? It’s useless until the next lunar eclipse either way.”_

_“Have you at least checked her shadow?” Della asked. “It wouldn’t be the first time Magica showed up in a form she knew we’d trust.”_

_“For the last time, I was_ not _responsible for that birthday clown! Your grandmother was the one who insisted upon it,” Scrooge grumbled as he reached for the duckling. He was quick to smile at her as he carefully lifted her into the air. “Up we go,” he told her._

 _The duckling smiled back, lightly kicking her feet. The_ Sunchaser _was well-illuminated with fluorescent lights, throwing her shadow against the wall. As Scrooge had expected, the shadow was her own._

_“See?” Scrooge said, laying the child back down on the cot as he fussed with tying the makeshift sling behind his neck. “No sense in worrying over nothing.”_

_Della was quiet for a beat too long._

_Scrooge turned to look at her._

_His niece was rubbing her arm with a chagrined smile that looked out of place on her usually proud face. “Sorry if I’m being paranoid,” she said. “It’s just...after what happened to Donald_ _—”_

_“Ach, lass,” Scrooge said, gently gripping her shoulder. “No apologies necessary. That brother of yours scared the living daylights out of both of us. It should still be afternoon back home, aye? Why don’t you give him another call, while I get this one settled?”_

_Della spared the duckling one more uncertain glance before bounding back up to the cockpit._

_Meanwhile, Scrooge busied himself with figuring out how to transfer the duckling to the sling now hanging across his torso._

 

They landed in New York about ten hours later.

Despite Scrooge’s exhaustion, he was only able to sleep for a third of the flight. It was hard not to think about his nephew and how they’d left him in bed, lying still and pale. Magica’s attack had come hard and fast, just five days ago now.

The Bin should’ve been safe, but by moving via shadow Magica had thwarted the magical defenses he’d spent millions on. It had been months since they’d seen hide or tail of her, and suddenly she was emerging monstrous from the Bin’s shadow, a creature of dark magicks the likes of which Scrooge had never seen.

She’d grabbed Donald by the throat, and held him over the side of the bridge.

Her voice, cloying and singsong.

_“The dime, in exchange for your nephew’s life.”_

“Uncle Scrooge?”

He jerked back a little in his seat, the _Sunchaser’s_ windshield coming back into focus.

The duckling made a small sound of protest against his chest, clutching the front of his coat with one small hand. _She’d_ slept for much of the flight, but Scrooge supposed that forming oneself out of shadow and (possibly) dark magic had to be a tiring ordeal.

“Aye, Della? What is it?” Scrooge replied, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

She was looking back at him with worry in the furrow of her brow, but thankfully refrained from asking if he was alright. “I’m gonna hit the sack for a few hours. You gonna get some sleep too?”

Scrooge made a show of standing up and stretching, loudly cracking his back. “Are we at the good airport? The one with the snacks?”

Della rolled her eyes. “Of course,” she said.

“Good!” Scrooge said. “I’m getting tired of peanut butter crackers. Maybe a installing refrigerator would be a good investment.”

He made for the ladder leading to the cargo hold, but Della spoke up behind him.

“Uncle Scrooge, we never talked about what we’re going to do about...about her. The kid.”

Scrooge turned back to see Della hanging over the back of the pilot’s seat, on her knees with her arms dangling over the side. It was a childish display, and reminded Scrooge poignantly of her youth. But her expression, drawn and anxious, was so at odds with it that the juxtaposition was enough to drive a hot wedge of guilt into his gut.

He knew that she was only worried about Donald. Were they to find a babe on any other adventure, even one conjured out of nothingness and from the remains of an arch nemesis, Della would have no qualms about bringing it back to the mansion. But it had only been five days since they saw Magica toss Donald’s body, limp like a ragdoll, into the bay. Five days since Magica stole his dime and the countdown to the eclipse began.

He knew that Della wanted children of her own someday.

He looked down at the duckling pressed close to his chest, and found her looking back at him with clear, dark eyes.

Scrooge understood why Della was being cautious. But all the same.

“We’re bringing her back home with us,” he said with finality. “I’m at least partly responsible for bringing her into this world, Magica’s spy or not. I’m going to see this through.”

Della grimaced, looking away.

At this, Scrooge’s words became more pointed. “Would you rather I left her on Mount Vesuvius?”

He recognized the guilt on Della’s face by the way her expression creased. She lowered herself out of the chair, rubbing the side of her face without looking Scrooge’s way. “No, no I...sorry, I think I just need to get some sleep.”

Scrooge’s countenance softened. “It’s been a trying for days for the both of us. I’m going to make some calls, get some snacks for the road. I expect you to be asleep when I get back!”

Della’s smile was small, but genuine as she nodded in acquiesce.

With that he finally descended into the cargo hold.

 

If the patrons and employees of the private airstrip were surprised to see Scrooge McDuck enter the establishment with a child hanging off of him, they didn’t show it.

Meaning, of course, that everyone erupted into gossiping chatter, and scrutinized his every movement.

Scrooge was just grateful that, as a private airstrip, press weren’t allowed. He didn’t think he had the wherewithal at the moment to resist smashing a reporter’s camera if they were to shove it in his or the child’s face.

The child in question had tired of the sling before he’d even left the plane, and after ten hours he couldn’t blame her. But without access to a stroller or anything of the sort, he resorted to simply carrying her on his hip.

Though it had been decades, the action was still an old familiar one. He still remembered with perfect clarity the closely packed slum houses of his youth, their laundry hanging on lines over filthy, odorous streets. Their closest neighbor, Fenella Blackbird, had been mother to eight children. Scrooge, having helped his mother tend to Hortense, was hired to help Fenella with her own bairns for a few pennies a week.

Once Matilda was old enough, and Scrooge took up shoe-shining and selling peat for tender, she took Scrooge’s place.

In the decades he traversed the globe searching for ways to make his fortune, Scrooge served as nanny and babysitter more times than he could count. Sometimes for pay, other times simply to help a friend.

There was the grocer in Calgary, a barmaid in Louisville, the Aboriginal woman in Tasmania whose bairns made a game of how long they could cling to his back.

Many of his assistants in the ‘50s and ‘60s were working mothers, with no one at home to care for their young ones. Scrooge insisted they bring the children with them to work, and set up daycare services, though more often than not he’d end up walking up and down the hallways bouncing a fussy child on his hip.

The child he carried now was hardly fussy, which Scrooge greatly appreciated, though he knew it would worry him if she continued to be so docile. On the flight over she’d taken some water and peanut butter crackers, but she hadn't eaten everything he'd given her, and that concerned him. With luck, he could ask one of the airport’s cafes to put together something the duckling might find more appetizing.

But first things first.

There was a payphone in a back corner of the airport, beside the vending machine he most liked to frequent on these trips. He forked over the necessary change with one hand and dialed, making faces at the duckling as the phone rung.

“McDuck residence,” Beakley answered, succinct after two brief rings. It was a relief to hear her voice after the chaos of the last day alone.

“Beakley!” he said cheerily, “I trust the mansion’s still standing then?”

“As always, your faith in my abilities is nothing short of reassuring,” she replied dryly. “I trust this means you’ve made it to New York?”

“Aye,” he said, lifting the duckling a bit on his hip. “How’s Donald?”

Beakley’s voice noticeably sobered. “Better. He’s resting now, but he was able to stomach some broth. We’ve passed the point for pneumonia to be a threat, so it’s just a matter of giving him time to recuperate.”

Scrooge closed his eyes, exhaling heavily through his nose. “Good. Good. Thank you, Bentina. Let him know we’re on our way, next time he wakes?”

“Of course, sir.”

There was a long pause, in which Scrooge was all too aware of the duckling weighing down his arm.

“Was there something else, Mr. McDuck?”

“Er….yes. There was one thing.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Bentina, stop glaring at the child.”

“I’m not glaring,” Beakley said, staring at the little girl sitting in the crib with eyes perhaps a little too narrow. “I’m observing. Intently.”

Scrooge turned back around, ending his most recent, tedious business call with the snap of his cellphone. “Aye, but with you they’re often one and the same. What on earth could she have done in the last five minutes to deserve your ‘observation’?”

“Nothing yet,” Beakley replied, stepping aside to allow Scrooge to approach the crib. 

“What a surprise,” Scrooge scoffed. He was quick to smile when he came into view of the toddler. “Speaking of which, how is my wee lass doing? Overthrow any governments lately? Perhaps you’ve taken the opportunity to embezzle from me?”

The girl smiled up at him, but as usual made no sound. 

“This is no laughing matter, Mr. McDuck,” Beakley, ever the killjoy, was quick to interject. “With her last act, Magica De Spell  _ made _ this girl and left her for you to find. I highly doubt that she did so just to saddle you with a child.”

Scrooge snorted, reaching into the crib to stroke the little girl’s cheek. “Who knows, maybe she’s been talking to my parents.” 

The girl closed her eyes happily at his caress, and Scrooge’s hand drifted to the top of her downy head. 

“You don’t think I could do it?” he asked, quiet and measured, running his fingers through the child’s hair. “Raise her?”

Beakley, scrutinizing the girl over his shoulder, tore her gaze away to turn startled eyes on him. 

Scrooge didn’t turn to face her, nor did he start pontificating on his many child rearing skills as she might’ve expected him to. He didn’t do anything other than look down at the girl.

“Scrooge,” Beakley started to say, allowing some sympathy to color her tone. 

Her friend and employer was quick to steamroll her efforts. “How  _ did _ you manage to get all these baby things on such short notice, Beakley?”

She allowed the subject change with only a small eye-roll. “Well, when you’re housekeeper to the richest duck in the world, things tend to come easily. If not cheaply.”

Scrooge winced at the reminder of the infinitesimal dent to his pocketbook, but surprised Beakley by not complaining more.

Despite her reservations, she’d done good work in the five hours it had taken Scrooge to arrive from New York. In one of the mansion’s many unused and mostly empty rooms, she’d set up the basics of a nursery. The wallpaper in the room wasn’t as dark as the rest of the mansion, and had a window facing the west which filled the room with sunlight during the day. Now, not hours from dusk, the light spilling through the window was bright orange.

A crib sat in the center of the room, made of mahogany and painted white. There was a changing table against the wall behind them, also white, and several months worth of clean diapers. In a small chest of drawers were several outfits for the girl, including pajamas, the latter of which Scrooge had promptly dressed her in upon their arrival. There was formula and baby food in the kitchen, with the remainder of the supplies on their way. 

“If I’d received more warning, I might have had  _ everything _ ready,” Beakley said pointedly. 

Scrooge cleared his throat loudly. “What do you think of changing the wallpaper? Or maybe a fresh coat of paint? This room’s a mite dreary to be a nursery.”

Beakley frowned. “How long are you expecting the child to be here?”

Scrooge blinked, eyes wide for a brief moment. He was spared from answering when Della burst into the room, smiling and jubilant for the first time in days. 

“Donald’s awake!” she said, “he wants to see everyone.”

Scrooge turned back to the child, who looked up at him curiously. “It seems we’ve been summoned, lass,” he said, lifting her out of the crib. 

 

“Della wasn’t kidding when she said you’d gone to fight Magica and come back with a baby,” Donald said with a grin. 

He was ashen and shaky, his voice still hoarse. After lying comatose for five days, Donald was too weak to do anything else than sit up in bed, but even that was an achievement that they all celebrated. The color was slowly returning to his face, life returning to his wrecked voice. To see him joking once more put all of his family at ease. 

Scrooge bounced the child on his hip with a roll of his eyes, “The one story Della dinnae have to embellish.”

“Hey!” Della retorted plaintively, sitting on the end of the bed by Donald’s feet. She was laughing too much to even make a show of being offended. 

The noise and light had the child hiding her face in Scrooge’s coat, but he noticed that she would turn her head intermittently to peek at Donald. His nephew, ever observant, didn’t miss this either. 

“Can I see her?” Donald asked, eyeing the girl as curiously as she was him. 

Scrooge stepped forward, carefully lifting the girl to ensure she wasn’t still clinging to his clothes. He set her down on top of the blankets near Donald’s knee, and she immediately began crawling toward him. 

“How’re you feeling, Donald?” Scrooge asked.  

“Like I fought a shadowy eldritch horror and lost,” he replied, his laugh turning into a drawn-out cough. 

Beakley moved forward to hand Donald a water bottle with a straw sticking out of it, and he took it with shoulders still shaking from the force of his coughing. 

“Donnie…” Della said, squeezing his knee through the blankets. 

“I’m fine,” he croaked, handing the water bottle back to Beakley once he’d taken a few sips.

Beakley placed it back on the nightstand and returned to her position of vigilance just behind Scrooge. 

“Really,” Donald said, looking down at the little girl just beside him, who watched him with bright, inquisitive eyes, “Yeah, I feel lousy, but less lousy than yesterday.” He smiled, tired but genuine. “I consider that a win.”

“And you should, lad,” Scrooge said, observing with a smile as the child reached for Donald’s hand lying in his lap. “You’ll just have to allow your family their anxieties.”

“In other words,” Della said comfortingly, “we get to worry about  _ you _ this time around.”

“Won’t that be a sight,” Donald said, laughing softly so he wouldn’t dissolve into coughing once more.

The toddler had begun to fiddle with Donald’s fingers, carefully spreading them apart and bending them individually. 

Donald watched her with a thoughtful expression. “Have you decided what to do about her?” he asked, looking back up at Scrooge. 

Scrooge opened his beak, and promptly closed it again. His brow furrowed, indecision maring his features. 

When Scrooge made no move to answer, Della took up the thread of the conversation. “We’re giving it some thought,” she replied guardedly, eyeing their silent uncle. 

Beakley stepped in. “The Macawbers are excellent candidates,” she said, “they’re usually based in Transylvania. I could have Moloculo on the phone within the hour.” 

Donald looked over at Scrooge, who continued to watch the child sitting in his lap, strange in his reticence. He nodded slowly. “If you’re sure.”

 

Darkness fell upon the mansion like a black canvas, bringing with it the dampening quality of night. It reminded Scrooge of the quietude when he would peer over the misty moors of his ancestral home in the hours before dawn. It was a weighty silence, one that promised great and terrible things just beyond the horizon.The last time Scrooge had felt that weight so pointedly had been the night before he left for America, when he was thirteen years old. 

Insomnia wasn’t foreign to Scrooge, not since the Montana plains. Even after nearly a week of sleepless, stressful nights, with only Gladstone’s intermittent calls from Donald’s hospital room to keep them going, sleep still eluded him. There was too much on his mind, he knew, what with Donald’s slow but steady recovery and the inexplicable child asleep several corridors away. 

His Number One Dime burned against his skin as he trudged out of his room, sans cane, wrestling on his dressing robe and thumbing the safety on his crossbow. 

The mansion’s shadowed halls had never seemed more ponderous than in the wake of the Shadow Queen’s defeat, nor the night so fraught. The familiar trappings of his home seemed alien and strange in the dark, and every shifting shadow or flicker of light sent his heart racing into his throat. 

Scrooge was never a duck susceptible to paranoia or unreasonable thinking. He was secure in the knowledge that his home was impregnable, his security state of the art, the protective spells newly cast. 

But these were strange and uncertain times, and logic didn’t factor in as it once did.

His nephew had been attacked less than a week ago. 

Magica De Spell would remain on a chain around Scrooge’s neck for the rest of his unnatural life. 

Suffice to say that things were different now. And if it took prowling the halls with a crossbow at two a.m. to restore some semblance of control, Scrooge would take it. 

The first stop on his patrol was to Donald’s bedroom. 

The smell of sickness no longer lingered as strongly in the air, though Donald lying in bed with an IV in his arm remained a harrowing sight. He slept soundly though, not as a result of head injury or medical intervention, his soft snores so reminiscent of Hortense that Scrooge couldn’t help but smile. 

Della slept in the armchair beside Donald’s bed, her head propped up on a fist in a position that couldn’t be comfortable. She was still fully dressed, but the lines of tension in her face and body had eased in the presence of her twin. 

Scrooge tugged a spare blanket off the foot of Donald’s bed and tucked it around Della, taking care not to wake her. He then checked the shadowed areas of the room with crossbow raised to eye level. When he failed to unearth anything other than empty corners, he crept out of the room as quietly as he had entered it..

Scrooge stood out in the hall for a long moment, allowing the full brunt of his exhaustion to settle upon his shoulders like a carrion bird. Looking out one of the tall windows, he could see that with the eclipse long over, the moon shone in the sky like a beacon. It lit his way without the need to turn on a light, spilling out into the hallway in long illuminated squares that to the naked eye didn’t seem to end. 

Sleep would continue to elude Scrooge that night, and his patrol wasn’t over yet. 

And as luck would have it, the lights would lead him to the mansion’s newest resident. 

 

On his way to the nursery, Scrooge began to hear a voice. 

As he approached the door, he recognized it as female, with the lilts and cadence of a British accent. Beakley, he thought, checking on the child just as he was. Perhaps she was warming up the girl after all.

Scrooge lowered the crossbow as he made to push open the door, the anxiety that had been thrumming through him like a steadily plucked guitar string easing slightly. It was only a century’s worth of instinct and experience that had him  _ really  _ listen to the voice, in the seconds it took him to raise his hand to the door that was already slightly ajar. 

“...not quite what I was expecting. A little on the small side, aren’t you? I’m sure I meant to make you bigger, you’re useless like this.”

Scrooge’s very blood froze in his veins at the all-too-familiar voice, the impossible voice, the  _ dead  _ voice. 

Magica De Spell was trapped in his dime. How was she speaking on the other side of the door?

Ignoring the fine tremors running through his hand, Scrooge cracked open the door just a hair more, so he could peer through the gap. 

The nursery was dark, only a few fragile rays of moonlight bringing light to the gloom. He could see the outline of the toddler through the slats of the crib, laying on her back looking up. And on the wall looming over her, blacker than black, was a shadow with a wide, cruel smile and red slits for eyes that glowed like fiery coals. 

It was Magica De Spell, but not as Scrooge knew her. 

“Do you have  _ any idea _ what it took to create you?” Magica was saying, craning her head close to the babe in the crib. “Severing a piece of oneself isn’t easy, you insipid whelp. You should’ve come out a teenager at least. This, this is just _ sad. _ How are you going to get the dime back looking like this? Absolutely ridiculous.”

The toddler didn’t speak, but as Magica spoke she gripped the crib slats and slowly pulled herself to her feet. She looked cheerfully toward Magica’s shadow, already seeking the adulation Scrooge had been so quick to bestow. 

“Ugh.” 

Magica’s shadow became long and serpentine, coiling around the base of the crib and raising her head nearly to the ceiling. 

“Hmm...maybe it’s not too late to set things right,” she considered, her voice deepening to a hellish pitch. The shadow of her hand traveled down the wall, through the crib slats, until it entered the toddler’s small shadow, thrown across her blanket and pillow. 

Scrooge watched in mounting horror as the toddler’s shadow began to leech up her legs, viscous and black. She immediately began to shriek, the first sound she’d made since she appeared before Scrooge on Mount Vesuvius. 

Scrooge slammed the door open, raising his crossbow so it was level with Magica’s head. 

“Let her go, witch!” he thundered, “or I’ll banish you somewhere far worse than my dime.”

Magica’s shadow pulled her hand back, crimson eyes briefly widening in surprise. Then she tittered, winding around the crib to crawl up the wall beside Scrooge. 

“You never found a charity case you didn’t like, did you, Scroogey?” she asked, “How’s Donald by the way? I do hope I didn’t crush his windpipe, but you can never be too sure of these things.”

“Hold your tongue, Magica,” Scrooge snapped, tightening his grip around his crossbow to disguise the tremor in his hands. 

“Ooh, no witty comeback, Scroogey?” Magica said liltingly. “I quite miss your endearing insults.”

“You’re not really Magica,” Scrooge said, “You’re nothing more than her shadow. You have no power here.”

“Perhaps not over you,” Magica acquiesced, “but as for this  _ adorable  _ little urchin, well…”

Magica reached for the toddler again, who had not stopped sobbing. “How do you like my emissary? She’s a little underdone, but I’m sure I can fix that.”

She reached into the girl’s shadow again, and her cries rose in pitch as her shadow began crawling up her body once more. 

Over Scrooge’s enraged shout and the toddler’s screams, Magica said, “You see, Scroogey, despite all appearance to the contrary, this delightful guttersnipe isn’t _ real. _ For the last 24 hours you’ve been caring for a shadow.  _ My  _ shadow. And as long as she’s mine, I’ll be able to come and go as I please —” 

Magica stopped mid sentence, her shadow’s expression contorting in confusion. “No, that can’t be…”

“Get away from her, Magica!” Scrooge was saying, stepping forward with his crossbow raised. The toddler’s wails had left him pallid and shaken, but his grip on the crossbow was solid and his aim was true. 

Magica didn’t respond. Her shadow has begun to shudder, in one instant taking the form of a demonic beast and then shrinking back down, rippling on the wall. 

Scrooge felt a presence behind him, and looked over his shoulder to see Beakley in her nightgown, a shotgun slung over her shoulder and a sword in her hands. 

She nodded at him briefly, grim-faced, and they turned back in sync to look at Magica having a fit on the far wall. 

“What have you done to her?” she shrieked, her form writhing. She’d released the girl, who’d curled up in her crib with her back facing them. Any sounds she might’ve made were drowned out by Magica’s howls. 

“I won’t warn you again, Magica!” Scrooge said, his fear for the girl outweighing his bewilderment at the sorceress’ behavior. 

Magica’s head snapped up to meet his gaze. “You’ve done something to her,” she cried, rocketing across the floor, and rising up the wall beside him once more. She reached forward into Scrooge’s shadow this time. 

Inexplicably, Scrooge felt as though he’d bee doused in ice water. 

Beakley shouted in warning, raising the sword, but Magica pulled away from Scrooge’s shadow as quickly as she had entered it. 

“You’ve tainted her!” Magica said, “A piece of your shadow is missing, taken by this useless brat. Why couldn’t you just  _ leave, _ Scroogey? Why do you have to help every pathetic whelp you see?”

Scrooge reached into the pocket of his robe, and pulled out a sunstone the size of his fist. 

“Here’s a thought, Magica. Why don’t  _ you  _ leave?” he said, and pressed the stone against her shadow on the wall. 

Magica’s scream was fit to shatter glass. From around the sunstone, a burst of light erupted in the shadow’s chest. It quickly spread, traveling throughout the shifting, inky form like a lit fuse, until there was nothing left of her. 

The resulting silence hung heavy in the air, ringing with the echoes of Magica’s shrieks. 

Scrooge dropped the sunstone and his crossbow, running to the crib. 

With a gentle hand on the toddler’s back, he turned her to face him. Part of him was terrified of what he might find, what horrors the witch might’ve unleashed on her. But the girl was whole, her feathers white and free of shadows save for those that lingered still in her eyes, wide and terrified and red with tears. 

Scrooge let out a breath that took nearly half his life with it. 

“Oh, my lass,” he murmured, carefully lifting her out of the crib. 

The girl clung to him fiercely, sobbing into the collar of his robe with high, thin wails. 

Scrooge very well felt like joining her, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. But as it was he only sat down, cradling the girl close. 

Beakley put her sword down with some reluctance, scanning the nursery with sharp eyes. “Is she really gone, then?” she asked. 

Scrooge blew out a breathe and nodded shortly. “For now. It seems she has some lingering connection with the lass. We’ll have to sever that.”

“Definitely,” Beakley said, a shadow of fury passing over her face. 

The silence returned, now fragile and fleeting after the crying and screaming and dark magick that had choked the nursery only moments before. 

Scrooge felt a little like he was dreaming, the adrenaline crash making his limbs loose and his head fill with cotton. Moonlight trickled in through the window in narrow streams across his legs, haunting and deceptively peaceful. 

In his arms, the girl’s cries had died down, and her breathing began to even. 

“I’m going to raise her,” he said. 

For a moment, perhaps out of habit, it looked like Beakley was going to argue. But her tense expression melted away and she let out a small, exasperated sigh to hide her smile. 

“She’ll need a name then,” she said. 

“I’ve got one in mind,” Scrooge replied, chuckling tiredly. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
